


Ira

by gillasue345



Series: Season 12 Codas [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: 12x03 Coda, Episode 12x03 coda, Gen, dean is really fucking mad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-28
Updated: 2016-10-28
Packaged: 2018-08-27 11:33:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,138
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8400079
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gillasue345/pseuds/gillasue345
Summary: Tears slipped out of his eyes, down his cheeks, and he let out a shuddering breath.Anger, he realized suddenly. I’m angry.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Ira: wrath, anger, rage, fury, ire, indignation

**Ira,** **a 12x03 Coda**

 

> “Learn this from me. Holding anger is a poison. It eats you from inside. We think that hating is a weapon that attacks the person who harmed us. But hatred is a curved blade. And the harm we do, we do to ourselves.”

“Dean—”

“—No.”

“C’mon man, just… talk to me—Dean!”

Dean turned his back and practically ran out of the room. He made it across the library, down the hall, and into the bedroom before the sob wrenching its way up his throat broke free. He slammed the door shut.

He reached up, felt the beginnings of a bruise on his neck and pressed down hard. The pain, sharp and present and _right,_ dulled the ache that had settled in his gut. This was pain he could handle. The memory of her eyes, her expression vacant as she choked him, flashed before him and Dean gasped for air, like her hand was still wrapped around his neck.

Dean clutched at the invisible hand wrapping itself around his neck, and closed his eyes. It wasn’t real. She wasn’t herself. She didn’t leave him again. Mom was right down the hall, taking a shower. He imagined it. Imagined her leaving, that’s all.

She didn’t leave him. Not again.

Tears slipped out of his eyes, down his cheeks, and he let out a shuddering breath.

Anger, he realized suddenly. _I’m angry._

The resentment he’d harbored for so long, the resentment at Mary’s abandonment all those years ago had caused, surfaced with a vengeance, and Dean couldn't figure out what was fresh and what was just a long forgotten anger misremembered.

He took a deep breath, tried not to choke on the raw anger surging within him. He needed to do something. Get in the car and drive until he found her. Bring her back home.

He needed to yell until he was hoarse. Or to go back in time fifteen minutes and hug her back.   _What if that was the last time you ever see her you idiot? And you couldn't even hug her?_ _Couldn't even look at her one last time?_

Dean shook his head. He wasn’t at fault here. _She_ left him. She left him because he wasn’t the four year old she remembered anymore? _Fuck her!_ he thought viciously, his fingers curling into fists. _She left because she was sad that Dad was gone? She left me because I’m all grown up and she missed it all? She doesn’t get to give up. She’s a parent. She’s my parent. She doesn't get to run. Not anymore. Look what running got her last time? Dead. And she left me and Sammy behind with Dad?_

Dean picked up the record player on his dresser and hurled it across the room.

It smashed against the wall, the old Beatles album he’d been playing before they left on this clusterfuck hunt shattered on impact.

“Dean!” Sam’s voice called from outside. “Open up! C’mon man. I know you’re mad, but can’t you see she had to do it?”

Dean picked up the heavy lamp on his bedside table with both hands and threw it onto the floor. The picture of him and his mom fell from its place of honor and landed in the shattered glass. He kicked it away from him.

“Don’t do this to yourself man,” Sam said. “It isn’t your fault. She had to get out of here. She needs time to grieve.”

“Grieve?” Dean suddenly yelled. He wrenched open his bedroom door so fast Sam nearly fell over “She needs to grieve? Grieve what? The fact that she doesn't have to wipe up your shit anymore? That she ‘missed’ all the pieces? What excuse can you give me that can possibly make up for the fact that once again, once again, someone I love is just pffft, gone. Left? Left me behind to pick up all the fucking pieces?” Dean kicked the wall, punching through the plaster and lath with ease. “How many more goodbyes am I gonna  have to swallow before enough is enough Sam? What? You wanna go out and find yourself too? Have at it. Tell Mom I said hello. And while you’re at it, why don’t you let Cas know he doesn't have to fucking leave on his fucking missions without us? That he can just fucking… stay for once?”

“Dean—”

“—No Sam! Shut up and just listen for once in your miserable, self centered life. For once, I get to be mad. It’s not right. And it’s not fair. And she’s our Mom! And she’s running away. Fuckin… what do I gotta do to get you people to stick around for once? Huh?”

“That’s not fair, Dean,” Sam said, hurt.

“No, you, Dad, Mom, Cas.. all y’all do is leave me. It’s the truth and you don’t wanna hear it, but that doesn't make it any less fuckin’ true.” Dean kicked another hole in the wall. He knew he’d have to patch it up later, but right now it was just too damn satisfying to watch the wall fall apart. 

Suddenly, a pair of strong arms wrapped around him from behind. He tried to fight off Sam’s embrace, but his brother had the advantage of height and breadth on him. Sam held on, long after Dean’s angry yells turned into broken sobs. Long after Dean had stopped fighting him. Had stopped pulling away.

“Mom’s gone,” he finally whispered. “She’s gone and I’m so mad. I’m so mad at her Sammy.”

“I know Dean, I know. She’ll be back.”

“She wasn’t ever back, little brother. That’s not our mom. Because _my_ mom? Would never have left her family behind. Never.” Sam sighed, and hugged Dean tighter. Eventually, Dean shrugged Sam’s hands away. “Leave me alone, Sam.”

“I don’t think—”

“—I said get the fuck out!”

Sam’s face crumpled, and for a moment, for just one second, Dean felt guilty, but then the image of his mother’s hand on his neck flashed once more and his eyes hardened.

“I… I’m right down the hall, Dean, if you need me.”

Dean ignored him. He opened up the bottom drawer of his dresser and pulled a bottle of Johnny Walker he’d been saving for a rainy day out of it. Well this was as rainy a day as the come, he thought bitterly, and broke the seal. He took a long swallow, straight from the bottle and settled himself onto his mattress, absently brushing off some of the broken shards of glass from his lamp, cutting his hand.

The blood that welled up on his fingers became fascinating, and he stared at the cuts, pushing and pressing on them, until the pain distracting him from the wrath swirling like a thunderstorm in his chest.

Sam sighed and left Dean to his drinking.


End file.
